Tag Archives: mlb

Scully has been the voice of the Dodgers since 1950 or, if you’re keeping score at home, a whopping 66 years.* He’s been graced with just about every broadcasting award you can think of and is a member of the Hall of Fame—deservedly so, as nobody calls a game quite like him.

The accolades are endless. And now, thanks to a Los Angeles City council vote of 12-0 on January 29, Scully’s name will become a permanent part Los Angeles as his name will be emblazoned in white across a street sign’s blue background—a most appropriate color scheme—as what is now Elysian Park Avenue will be renamed Vin Scully Avenue in his honor.

Ever humble, Scully had always waved off the notion of such honors in the past. But with his announcement that 2016 will be his final year behind the microphone, his reluctance had to give in to the harsh reality that Dodger fans will indeed miss him once this season is over.

Sorry, Vin. You truly deserve it.

And while no official date has been planned for the name change, you can rest assured that it will not be without the usual pomp and circumstance* that accompanies such an event.

But it seems that the people at Google Maps are on top of things.

I discovered this a few days after the City Council vote. For reasons I can’t particularly recall, I was scrolling around Google Maps and came across Dodger Stadium. In the process I noticed that the street that is still, for the moment, Elysian Park Avenue had already been changed (click to enlarge).

Perhaps it’s just Google’s way of being ahead of the game, knowing that this street name will indeed be changed in the near future. Or maybe, just maybe, they are big Dodger fans—or Scully fans at the very least.

Bing? Nope. Yahoo!? Bzzt. Only Google has changed the name.

I’m not quite sure how I’m going to react when I hear Scully call his last game, but I can almost assure you that there will be tears involved. As a fan who has heard announcers come and go, the one constant in Los Angeles was the smooth voice of our beloved Vin Scully. We’ve been lucky beyond measure to have him stick around for as long has he has but like all good things, they’ve got to end sometime.

But soon, Los Angeles will forever have a small part of the town named after our Vinny and naturally, it’s the street leading into Chavez Ravine.

Like this:

I’ve made it to this point in my life admiring only a handful of people from different walks of life. It’s worth noting that, for some reason or another, none of them are musicians and even fewer are athletes.

In fact, there’s really only one athlete that I can recall as being someone I looked up to while I was a young adult, so much so that when it came time to name my own son, it was with little hesitation (and input from Ann, of course) that Anthony was chosen.

The Anthony in question here is one Anthony Keith Gwynn, Sr., aka Tony Gwynn, aka Mr. Padre. And it was today that my heart sank just a little bit when I heard the news of Gwynn’s passing after battling salivary gland cancer, something probably caused by years of chewing tobacco. He was only 54.

And to just get it out of the way, Gwynn apparently made a long line of poor financial choices and ended up owing somewhere near $400k in back taxes. But then again, that was his personal business and not why I named my son after him. We’ve all made bad choices (financial or otherwise) and the Hall of Fame is not called the Hall of Morals and Ethics, otherwise the place would be a Hall of Nothing if we question what some of its current inductees did in their personal lives. Think about it.

Let’s move on.

Back in the days before I had cable TV, I would watch the Padres on San Diego’s Channel 39 over a regular broadcast signal just to see Gwynn play. It took some time to tune in with rabbit ears but I was able to do it more often than not, and especially on warmer days. I spent many summers watching the games from the comfort of my second-story bedroom some 80 miles away from San Diego and also drove to what was once called Jack Murphy Stadium to see him make a fool of pitchers.

Naturally, being a baseball fan, the most striking thing I found about Gwynn was his sweet swing. It was straight out of a Charley Lau textbook on the subject of hitting, books I read while I tried to perfect my swing at the local batting cages. I often watched Gwynn and eventually modeled my swing after his. Not only was he a great hitter but also one with an uncanny ability to hit anywhere on the field, especially holes in the infield. There was really nowhere that the opposing team could play the guy because they never knew where he would be spraying the ball.

There are also a few personal memories I have of Gwynn, ones that stand out more than any others.

The first one took place at Dodger Stadium. I was with a group of people I used to work with at Target watching the game. The game started and naturally, Gwynn was the lead-off hitter. I told one of my coworkers, “Watch him. He’s going after the first pitch.”

Tom Candiotti, a known knuckleballer, floated the first pitch of the game to Gwynn which he promptly smacked into right field for a hit. Keep in mind that the knuckleball is one of the toughest pitches to hit and Gwynn just went to town with the thing. It was amazing.

Then there was the time I got his autograph at Anaheim Stadium, where he signed for as many fans as he could. It’s difficult to find a ballplayer even of the lowest caliber doing that in this day and age.

Another time in San Diego’s Jack Murphy Stadium, I witnessed Gwynn and John Kruk throwing baseballs high into the stands during batting practice in an attempt to hit the giant video screen. Kruk came closer than Gwynn who was laughing too hard at what he and Kruk were up to.

Here’s an odd one. When Ann and I were shopping for a spa years ago, we visited a vendor at the Orange County Fair who was from San Diego. He saw me wearing my Tony Gwynn jersey and immediately started to criticize him for his tax problems. We immediately left his booth and went to another where we gladly dropped nearly $3,000 on a spa. Hope he was happy in expressing his opinion, an opinion that cost him a nice sale.

And just last year, I was finally able to make it to PETCO Park to watch the Dodgers battle the Padres. And although I’m smiling in this picture, I have to tell you that I was pretty emotional about standing there with Anthony, in front of a statue erected in honor of my favorite baseball player, the one I named my son after.

Lastly, I was privileged to witness the greatness that was Tony Gwynn back in the early ‘90s when I had a Field Pass to Anaheim Stadium (when I had connections for such things). I rarely used it but didn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Gwynn during a few Spring Training exhibition games. Watching him up close doing his thing was absolutely incredible. Here are few shots from one of the games that I never posted anywhere up until today when I posted them to Instagram. These are all scans from 35mm film.

And of course, it helps that Gwynn’s family resided in Long Beach for many years and he attended Long Beach Poly, Ann’s high school, where their baseball field is named in the family’s honor.

So many memories and all of them good. And that’s just from me. The baseball community is still churning out stories on what an incredible guy Gwynn was, not only as a player but as a person. He left an indelible mark on his fellow teammates, fans, and the game of baseball. And these are just my recollections of the man. His numbers and achievements speak for themselves.

Like this:

Although my city of residence is closer to Anaheim than Los Angeles, I am a Dodgers fan and always will be. Nothing will change that.

But there are some in the area who choose to make that stadium in Anaheim and its team of residence – the one with an identity crisis that can’t choose which town they hail from – their lifeblood. And that’s fine.

Then there’s those who take their fanaticism to ridiculous levels and think that their current team (now 5 games under .500 with no chance of making the playoffs) is still better than this year’s Dodgers (87-64 with a Magic Number of 2).

I had a run-in with one such gentleman at Anthony’s school today and it was classic.

I had just picked up Anthony and was nearing an intersection bustling with kids crossing in every direction. There was some kind of SUV in front of me, one that could imply more than a few things, whose driver apparently couldn’t decide whether to pull over or stop at the intersection. The driver eventually did park all caddywhompus with the rear of the SUV sticking out into the street. I maneuvered around it to the stop sign.

Approaching the busy crosswalk, I told Anthony – he chatting away as usual – to tone it down while I took in all the sights and sounds around me so as to proceed with caution.

Even with him quiet, there was still a steady cacophony from the kids leaving school and crossing in front of me. Then as I was sitting there, I heard the following being mumbled on my right side.

“Dodgers suck.”

It was from the guy driving the SUV who no doubt saw my lanyard hanging from my rearview mirror (see image above). I turned down the radio and looked over at him, smiling.

“I’m sorry, but what did you say?” Dude probably figured his little sotto voce sentiments would go unheard by me but alas, even with my tinnitus acting up, I heard him loud and clear.

“Oh…I’m just waiting for my son,” he said uncomfortably.

“That’s funny because I thought I heard you say, ‘Dodgers suck’ instead.”

Trying to justify his statement he simply replied, “Well, they do,” which is akin to a child wagging their finger in another’s face and saying, “Told you so!” Put simply, there is no justification for his remark when given the stats from this year’s Dodger season. I won’t bore you with those but he apparently forgot about this.

Maybe he figured I was going to start yelling and screaming. Maybe he thought I was going to get out of my car and get in his face. I did neither. I’m not that fanatical and I know the facts, so I just kept on smiling and replied.

“Oh, well I’m sorry you feel that way, guy. See you in the playoffs. Have a good day!” I threw him a peace sign and drove off, still smiling.

Dude didn’t know what hit him. His face was blank, as if Mom just found his porn stash/pot under his bed while she was cleaning his room and confronted him with it.

He had nothing else of substance or fact to contribute to this unscheduled conversation, and it’s doubtful he will bring this up with his wife or anyone else.

Like this:

“Friends, we have a very special souvenir offer for you today, and what a treat it is. In recognition of Andre Ethier’s on-field pre-game antics a few nights ago, Danny Goodman is proud to offer this oversized Dodgers novelty foam finger. Now you can salute the Dodgers’ performance as of late, tell manager Don Mattingly what you think of another bone-headed move, give your opinion of the McCourt divorce, as well as letting Ethier know his actions were unprofessional and uncalled for. It’s sure to be a crowd-pleaser at the Ravine.